Lines
by Waiting to inhale
Summary: Each day is a struggle for Nick Stokes.


Lines. Little lines with the potential to become chasms. Why hadn't he noticed this before? Truth be told, he had, but he just didn't have the time to sit around and contemplate his face. Besides, what self-respecting guy worries about facial lines? Self-reflective honesty frightened him, because if he was honest, then he'd have to admit that he actually had spent some time thinking about it, but the more time he spent thinking about the lines, the more he had to think about how they got there, and thinking about that made him so uncomfortable that he was certain he was thinking himself more lines. He resolved to avoid his face in the mirror while in the men's room at the Lab. That would solve the problem. For now. He chuckled and considered how odd it was that the dreary Lab actually had good lightening in the men's room. Irony… he'd had enough of it.

He quickly ran the tap and splashed water on his face. He always seemed to need to do that. He wasn't sure what he needed to wash off or why he needed to refresh at this particular moment, but it had become a habit, so he did it, and he didn't question it. Because sometimes you need to save your brain for other stuff. But he couldn't avoid thinking about it, even though he had resolved not to think about it, "it's like I need a damn baptism every hour on the hour," he muttered.

He was startled by a body whooshing through the door. "What are you doing every hour on the hour, Nick, and, why are you talking to yourself?" He tried to hide his embarrassment at being caught contemplating the meaning of his life at the men's room sink, and absently mumbled, "It's nothing." Of course, Hodges being Hodges, that wasn't a good enough response for him.

"Ya know Nick, the first sign of insanity is talking to people who aren't there." If Hodges had been anyone else, he might have regretted saying that, but since he had about as much self-awareness as a contestant on America's Next Top Model, he continued to pursue the topic. "Perhaps you should talk to someone. I'm here for you, Nick. " The words slithered out the side of his mouth.

"Perhaps you should be less of an asshole." He regretted it the second he said it. He knew that Hodges wouldn't keep that to himself, and would in no time be spreading the word around the lab that he was crazy. Damage control. He had to spin this and quick. "Had ya going there for a second, didn't I?" It wasn't much, but it was the best he could do. He willed himself to come up with something better. "Hey, did you get around to running those samples for me, Boss?" That was a good move. Now they were talking about work. Rule #1, always bring it back to work. As Hodges began to ramble about how busy he was, Nick extricated himself from the situation and found himself walking toward the break room.

Coffee. Coffee will make things better. Coffee has magical powers. Coffee will get my jets going. He stopped for a second and began to consider the impact of coffee on his life. He used to just merely like it as a beverage. Now, he revered coffee as an integral part of his functioning. When did that all change? Why did he even have to ask? It changed after… that happened. Of course, it always came back to that. Are you supposed to be able to sleep after something like that? Besides, with his work schedule, sleep had always been a bit of a mystery to him anyway. It would make sense that he'd have problems getting back into any normal pattern of sleep after… that. _"You know Nick, nothing bad will happen if you actually refer to what happened as something other than that or it. Let's get rid of the pronouns and talk about being assaulted, kidnapped, buried alive, and almost dying." _Another involuntary chuckle. She really did have a way of cutting to the chase. Imagine if I didn't go to therapy. Wait, this is me after three months of therapy, and one year out of the box, and this is the best I can do? Coffee. I need coffee. He shook his head like a cartoon character in an attempt to join the present and headed for the coffee pot. Empty.

"Damn, that's just perfect. I need that like I need a hole in my head."

"Something bothering you, Nick?"

Why oh why can't I just talk to myself without people entering stage left, he grumbled, to himself this time. "No, just wishing the pot wasn't empty, Griss."

"Coffee will kill you Nick. It's full of toxins and caffeine, and you drink too much of it."

Nick tried to keep himself from saying, "Yes, mom," but he couldn't help himself. I'm so sick of being treated like a child. Just as quickly as that had left his psyche, he realized that he had better get it together. Don't go down that slippery slope, stay in the present.

"Nick, you planning on standing there holding an empty coffee pot for the rest of the shift?"

"Uh, no, holding it for five minutes is about right." Humor. Humor is good. It relaxes people. It's charming. People like humor. But wait, I'm dealing with Grissom here. Humor will not work with him.

"You are going on six minutes now Nick, why don't you put that down and go do some work. You still work here, right?"

"I'm shooting for seven, and then I'll get back to work." He smiled as he said it, hoping to appear genuine and charming, even though this was Grissom.

Grissom cocked his eyebrow and left without a word. You really did well with that, Stokes. Try to get through the next two hours without bringing the crazy. Wait, I'm not crazy. I'm just stressed and over-tired. Crazy I am not. But why am I still standing here holding this empty coffee pot in my hand? Nick blew out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. He put the pot down carefully, and made his way to the workroom and surveyed the area. More like disaster area. The odd remnants of the case were actually arranged in a way that made sense to Nick, but anyone else would surely think that a crime scene had exploded on the table.

Now isn't that an interesting choice of words, he thought. And why am I so damn worried about what everyone else thinks? This makes sense to me, and I know where everything is, and it doesn't look like an explosion, and it's fine. It's just fine.

"Niiiiick, uh you seem lost in thought." This time it was Catherine. He was startled by her voice and jumped back. He thought it was just a slight movement, but apparently it wasn't.

"Sorry, Nick, didn't mean to startle you." He thought about going into detail about how he wasn't really startled, but he just decided to let it go. Sometimes you should just let things go. Wait, I need to stop being in my head and actually talk to Catherine.

"Hey, Cath. What's up," he said in his best attempt at nonchalance. She mentioned something about Sophia getting a confession out of the lead suspect and that they had enough evidence at this point to nail the case, so he didn't have to put a rush on anything now.

"Thanks, Catherine. I guess I'll just log this stuff and clean up, then." She winked at him and responded, "Well, it looks like that will take you a few hours, good luck with that." He watched as she lithely exited the room. He considered the fact that Catherine seemed to just walk to get from one place to the other; nothing seemed to hold her back. He wondered what it would be like to just walk from point A to point B. He always seemed to be carrying a heard of oxen on his back. No, oxen and a pack of donkeys, and maybe a camel or two. Yeah, that's it. Wherever I go, it always seems so heavy. And why can't I look forward when I walk. I'm always looking over my shoulder.

_"Nick, the kidnapping was a nightmare, only you were awake the whole time. You've been through so much, and there's no way to let any of us in on the full measure of everything you went through. It was huge, and it's going to take time to feel safe again._

_The shoulder thing? That's so normal, I'd be worried if you didn't do that. But one day, you won't notice that you are looking over your shoulder anymore, and then sometime after that, you won't need to look over anymore. Time does heal. It's remarkable that way."_

She made so much sense. Even though he went in thinking therapists were over-rated, she actually made sense. Time, just give it time. He nodded reassuringly to himself as he began the task of efficiently cleaning up his evidence table.

"I'm done already," he thought to himself. It had been a while since he'd actually managed to start something and finish it in a reasonable amount of time. It was unusual for him to actually be finished before the end of the shift. He was sort of at a loss as to handle the situation. "What next?" he thought. Locker room. Leaving on time—why should that seem like a foreign concept to him?

Three familiar voices wafted from the locker room out to the hallway. "So, it's settled. Blueberry Hill for pancakes." He recognized Sarah's voice attempting to rally the troops in her favor.

"No, I thought we were going to the Peppermill. What's breakfast without a Bloody Mary?" That was Greg. Since when did Greg like celery and tomato juice? He must have read about that in a film noir novel.

"You are both nuts. I thought we were going to Binions for steaks." Warrick quickly noticed the sneer on Sarah's face and added "… and I'm sure they have vegi-burgers as well," he snorted.

"Maybe you should all just split the difference and go to Taco Bell." The three of them looked up and responded, "what?" in unison. They all started to laugh. Sarah asked Nick where he wanted to go, and, after thinking about it for a while declined the offer. All attempts to shame him into going were futile, and they all eventually gathered their things together and headed to their cars.

On the drive home, he began to wonder how he would sleep. Would he get an hour or two, maybe even three. "If I don't fall asleep after an hour, I'll get up and read a book, and then I'll go back to sleep. And if that doesn't take, then I'll get up and clean the bathroom." But, before he realized what he was doing, he turned the car around and headed in the opposite direction of home. Sometimes there are more important things to do than wage the battle with sleep. Soon he found himself pacing the halls of Desert Palms Hospital. He really didn't like being there. Too many memories conjured up too many things, but wasn't that why he was here?

He summoned his courage, well maybe not courage, maybe it was just his common sense and his compassion. He summoned that up and knocked on the door before entering. He breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed that Jim was asleep. He briefly congratulated himself for making the effort to come over, but this would have to wait for another day. But before he could pat himself on the back any further, Jim stirred, looked over to him and waived him in with a weak hand.

"Hey, Nick." He nodded and took a seat in the visitor's chair next to the bed. He sat quietly for the longest time. Finally the silence was broken. "Did you come here to stare at me or do you have a purpose, because you've got a pretty face and all, but still, this is kind of awkward."

"I just wanted to know how you were doing since it… I mean, since the shooting," he said more shyly than he had anticipated.

"Wow, two weeks in the hospital and you are the first person to actually say the word _shooting_. I didn't expect that," came the response. Jim's facial expression was both shocked and relieved.

"Yeah, well, sometimes it's good to talk about what actually happened. Get rid of the pronouns, so to speak."

"Well, Nick, I have my moments. But I guess you know how that goes."

"That I do."

And as they talked, for what seemed like hours, Nick began to feel like the oxen, the donkeys, even the camels might just be taking a vacation, and maybe they were taking some of the lines on his face with them.


End file.
